


We Barely Stay Afloat

by ashdeanmanns



Series: In All Our Years [2]
Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Artist Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes Has Issues, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes as Captain America, Bucky Barnes-centric, Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers Feels, Creepy Brock Rumlow, Family, Family Loss, Hurt Steve Rogers, Hydra (Marvel), Infinity Gems, M/M, Man Out of Time, POV Bucky Barnes, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Steve Rogers as the Winter Soldier, Time Skips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:14:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23402050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashdeanmanns/pseuds/ashdeanmanns
Summary: 1945 - Steve Rogers fell off a freight car, into the Alps. He survived the fall.1968 - Captain America and the Winter Soldier meet in battle for the first time.2014 - The truth of the Winter Soldier gets uncovered.Bucky Barnes has lived a long life. He thought that he'd seen everything, from political advancements down to beautiful exhibits of nature in the least likely spots.But Steve turning out to be alive? That was when Bucky knew that he really had seen everything.Steve learns how to feel human again. Bucky is right there beside him, healing himself in the process. From quiet talks in the middle of the night, where they reminisced over things even Bucky had forgotten; to little kisses peppered over smooth and scarred skin, grounding them as they went back in time.Together.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Series: In All Our Years [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1574968
Comments: 11
Kudos: 45





	We Barely Stay Afloat

**Author's Note:**

> Again, I write on my phone, so I apologize for any typos or errors. Can't control it. I did edit this very harshly, so there shouldn't be many.

**| 2014 |**

  
"Steve..."

The name fell from his lips with a revere, a guilt, and, finally, a heavy sickness. All this time. All these years.

He was still alive.

But he fell. Bucky remembered it better than anything; the cold, trying so hard to hold on and then - his body hitting the torn edge of the wall where it bent back, Steve's fingers scrabbling the wall before he was taken away, Bucky lashing out to grab onto him but only getting his tags, and two bone-chilling screams - one of terror, one of anguish.

He didn't want to say a thing. His voice wouldn't be able to work, not able to sneak past the pressure in his throat. But, whether it be a miracle or a curse, he managed, ""H-ho-how...You're dead. I watched you fall." _It's seared into my head. I see you falling when_ _I_ _can't sleep._

Steve's face contorted - confusion, anger, fear - before setting back to a stone he recognized from experience with Nat. "I always get back up." Then he aimed -

Bucky was fully prepared for the bullet. But Sam had other ideas. He swooped down from the sky, sending a powerful kick to Steve's torso, knocking him over completely.

He rolled on the ground, jumping up from his knees. The way he looked at Bucky was heartbreaking - like he didn't even know him. But the terrified glaze and the confused wildness in his eyes, the shaking but determined curve of his lips, told Bucky that _something he needed to know was there._

He had no idea what it could be. But he'd figure it out. The Steve he fell in love with - who this man clearly no longer was - would do it for him.

With a sudden resolve, Bucky launched himself at him - jumping high enough to slam his knee into the middle of Steve's chest, a move he never would have dared to make before the war. He remembered making similar moves on him when they had fought before, in cold Soviet forests, and felt guilt churn in his gut.

He knew it was impossible, but he should have known.

He should have forced Colonel Phillips to let him and the Howlies lead a search team.

He should have -

There was nothing he could've done besides let go of the bar before Steve pulled him back in, and he knew that.

The Steve of now had much more training than the Steve of then - even after he had gone through Project Rebirth. He had no training, the Howlies had to stage an intervention after a few missions. Bucky hadn't wanted to teach him to shoot - _Steve shouldn't have fucking followed him_ \- but he hadn't had a choice.

Whatever had been done to him - he definitely knew how to fight.

He jabbed the sharp knobs of his knuckles - scarred and calloused - into the hollow of Bucky's throat. Bucky jerked back, front-kicking Steve in the stomach and pushing them away from each other, gaining a short moment of relief. Bucky needed it. His heart and eyes burned, wasps swarmed inside his ribcage. His hands and knees trembled, causing him to worry about a possible fall or moving too slow.

Steve was coming back in, and something on Bucky's face must've made Sam feel the need to intervene. Hovering in the air, he grabbed onto a strap on his shoulder and pulled - and _fucking hell_ , the look on Steve's face. It was pure terror mixed with fury, and a growl rose from behind his clenched teeth as he turned on Sam, pulling a knife from a sheath on his leg.

Sam pulled himself out of the way, missing the blade by a hair. Bucky jumped back in, knocking one of Steve's legs out from under him by taking his own kneecap and bashing it into the weak side of his, pulling a knife from one of the sheaths when he was distracted by quickly regaining his balance.

Bucky threw his arm forward, swiping the air beside Steve's leather-wrapped right shoulder. He ducked out of the way, bringing his right arm up to grab Bucky's wrist, his metal arm coming up with his own knife to slash at the inside of Bucky's forearm.

He gasped, the gash of his artery quickly flooding with blood. Red rivers traced the curve of his muscle, staining his skin. In a quick offence, he pushed himself up with a foot on Steve's thigh - his hip level was lowered, so it acted as a step - wrapped his other leg around his right shoulder, and twisted once his weight was added to Steve's center of gravity. Bucky's denim-covered knee hit the asphalt first, pain flaring up to his hip, but he'd have to deal with that later. He twisted, and locked the arches of his feet around Steve's metal elbow, arm around his throat in an illegal choke-hold. "Drop it," he choked out. When he didn't let go of the knife, he stretched and wrenched Steve's neck until he heard a crack. He repeated, harder, "Drop it," and the knife clattered against the pavement.

"Bucky!" Nat shouted, before the squeal of tires sounded. He looked up, eyes widening when he realized they were surrounded. Operatives in kevlar and black bulletproof vests swarmed out of the vehicles, guns aimed at him, Sam, and Nat.

"Release him!" He recognized Rumlow's voice. Bucky immediately let Steve go, knowing that Rumlow wouldn't hesitste to shoot him, especially after what had gone down on the elevator the day before. Steve rolled away and up onto his feet, face pulled tight and eyes wide, like something was wrong to him. Beyond him, Sam and Nat were being corralled, guns at their backs. Rumlow yelled again, gun still trained on Bucky, "On your knees! Get on your knees! Now!"

Bucky pushed his weight onto his right hip and planted his left foot on the pavement. He pushed himself up and unfurled his right leg, getting himself on his knees. He folded his hands on the back of his head for good measure.

"Don't move," Rumlow ordered, crouching down behind him, so close that he could feel his hot breath on the backs of his hands, before they were pulled down and around his back. He hissed to another agent, "Put the gun down. Not here. Not here!"

Bucky let himself get manhandled into the back of a black van. He let Rumlow trap his arms in an elbow-to-wrist metal cuff, just stared straight ahead at nothing as the man tried to taunt him.

"We're taking you to base. You get to see how we make Rogers comply," he said with a sick giddiness, just to get under Bucky's skin. When he didn't respond, Rumlow knocked his knuckles against Bucky's bloody temple. "Earth to Barnes? Jesus, man, you'd think you just saw a ghost!"

"Man, leave him alone," an agent at the very back said, leaning in front the outside. "You're being an asshole."

"This guy," he knocked at Bucky's head again, "thinks he's important." He smirked, cruelly, and tugged on the lock of hair that hung over his eyes, "It's time he realizes he's not."

"We gotta go," another agent said. "Pierce is coming to debrief him, so we need to get to repairs on time."

A trail of red-hot anger traced down his spine. He kicked Rumlow in the shin - feet bound at the ankles - making him give an off-guard shout. There wasn't much he could do before the STRIKE Commander pulled his stun baton and jammed it into Bucky's neck, like a mistreated, branded cow.

He convulsed, before the memories took over. _Zola's contraption was coming down over_ _his_ _face, crackling_ -

And then he didn't remember a thing.

"You fry his brain," he murmured, head falling back when the stun baton was pulled away. His crown thunked against the wall of the van, the sound reverberating through the metal.

"Ah, we you didn't remember anything!" Rumlow exclaimed. "This gets better and better every day." He snapped away, striding toward the open back of the van. "Round up, boys, we're on the move!"

As soon as the doors were closed - despite the two agents sitting on the center bench, attached to the wall separating them from the cabin - Sam was immediately hounding him; "Buck? Hey, man, you gotta do or say _something_."

Grimacing, Bucky pulled his head from where it had fallen limply against the wall. Chin tucked into the collar of his jacket, he glared at the large metal restraints holding his forearms together, at the toes of his Converse.

"How is this even possible? He died seventy years ago."

He whispered, voice scraping in his throat, "The serum helped him survive the fall."

 _I left him for dead._ He fought the prickle of tears that threatened his eyes, now that his heartbeat was slowing down and the adrenaline rush was dropping. He pursed his lips, pressing the seam together as tight as he could.

"And he's the Winter Soldier? What the hell does that meam?"

"The world's most deadly assassin," he answered, monotone all but for the cracks in his voice. "He was brainwashed, forced to work for the Soviets and HYDRA. Killed JKF. Howard Stark..." The last name came out as a whisper, a sorrowful hush that settled over them like a dark cloud; "Grant Barnes." He shook his head, pounds suddenly reverberating from the nape of his neck. "Sam, I'm so sorry for pulling you into this," he said, voice cracking. When Sam failed to reply, he let his head fall back against the wall of the van, stared up at the ceiling. He came back to attention when he heard Nat groan in pain. Blood oozed down her leather jacket from the bullet wound in her shoulder, no pressure to stop the flow.

Sam turned to the agent beside him. "We need to get a doctor here. We don't put pressure on that wound, she's gonna bleed out here in the truck."

The agent pulled a stun baton, leaning in close, the electricity crackling near Sam's body. Then, the agent twisted the handle in their palm, and pushed the baton into the other agent's gut.

One of them was on their side. He could work with that. As the Hydra operative moved to attack, Bucky swung his feet up, shifting his weight onto his hip. He slammed his bound feet into the operative's head, knocking them back into their seat, limp in unconsciousness.

The agent on their side pulled their helmet off, revealing themselves as Maria Hill. The Deputy Director exclaimed, in relief, "Ah! That thing was squeezing my brain..." She tucked her hair behind her ear, turning to Bucky. "What the hell's going on?" Her eyes found Sam, but she then looked back. "Who's this guy?"

Bucky wasn't at all surprised that Fury was alive. He knew that the Director had some sneaky tricks up his sleeve, just never to what extent. He didn't protest as Maria took them to the middle of nowhere, after they had escaped through a hole in the bottom of Hydra's van and another had picked them up, just went along with what was thrown at them.

Fury dropped the old photo on the table in front of him. "This man declined the Nobel Peace Prize. He said, 'Peace wasn't an achievement, it was a responsibility.'" He looked up at Bucky. "See, it's stuff like this that gives me trust issues."

Nat interjected, getting down to business, "We have to stop the launch."

Fury said, dejectedly, "I don't think the Council's accepting my calls anymore." He opened a grey case that sat on the table, revealing three green and gold motherboard-like chips.

Sam beat Bucky to the curious punch; "What's that?"

"Once the Helicarriers reach three thousand feet, they'll triangulate with Insight satellites, becoming fully weaponized," Maria explained.

Fury expanded, "We need to breach those carriers and replace their targeting blades with our own."

"One or two won't cut it. We need to link all three carriers for this to work, because if even one of those ships remains operational a whole lot of people are gonna die."

"We have to assume everyone aboard those carriers is HYDRA," Fury added, after the fact. "We need to get past them, insert the server blades, and maybe, _just maybe_ , we can salvage what's left -"

Bucky shook his head, crossing his arms over his chest. "No, we can't salvage anything." At the look of disbelief that Fury sent him, the shock from Nat and Maria, and Sam's steady gaze, he spurred on; "We're not just taking down the carriers. That's not the only thing HYDRA has their hands in. We have to take down S.H.I.E.L.D. as a whole. This isn't what it's supposed to be, and it's especially not what Peggy set out to create."

"S.H.I.E.L.D. had nothing to do with it -" Fury started to say, indignantly, but Bucky crushed that bug under his boot;

"S.H.I.E.L.D. had _everything_ to do with it, Nick. HYDRA has been in our ranks since Paperclip - and even after Zola killed himself in front of me and Peg, _nobody noticed_."

"Why do you think we're meeting in this cave? _I noticed_."

"You had my son's office cleared before I could get to what he left me. That folder could've cleared all of this up before millions of lives were at stake." He stuck a shaking finger in his face. "How does that make _you_ look?"

He said, carefully, knowing very well of Grant's personal mission involving the Winter Soldier, "I didn't know about Rogers -"

"Even if you had, would you have told me? Or would that have been a distraction, too? Because I'm telling you, right now - I'll fight for this cause. Get the carriers down, save innocents. But if I see an opening to get him out of that hell, I'm taking it, and there's nothing any of you can do to stop me."

"You can't put the mission at risk for -"

"Nick," Maria interrupted, stopping him in his tracks.

"He's not the same," he admitted, voice resigned. "I don't expect him to be. But I can't let him go again." He inhaled sharply, pushing his shoulders back. "S.H.I.E.L.D., HYDRA, it all goes."

"He's right," Maria agreed. Fury let her make that call, turning his eyes from Natasha to Sam, trying to gouge out their viewpoints.

"Don't look at me," Sam shrugged, taking a step back. "I just owe a favor."

"Well." Nick flicked his gaze back on Bucky. "Looks like you're giving the orders now, Barnes."

He readjusted his jaw. "Damn right."

< | >

Bucky did not know how long he was collapsed on the mouth of the Potomac. He kept his fingers on Steve's pulse, as he was somewhat assured by the faint, but steady, thrum of his heartbeat.

He was exhausted. His face was beat in, his right arm was broken, he had three individual bullet holes in various spots. He felt weighed down in his old Howling Commando uniform, which was soaked from the Potomac. Steve remained unconscious, face covered in smudged blood and bruises instead of the charcoal he remembered, soaked through to the bone.

Bucky sighed, letting himself lean over. He kept his fingers to Steve's pulsepoint and set his forehead on his chest. Watching him fall all over again - Bucky's heart had jumped into his throat. But this time, he followed behind, because that's what he always did - Bucky Barnes would always follow Steve Rogers. And he wasn't losing him again. He'd pulled the unconscious soldier out of the Potomac, got him on his stomach and beat the water out of his throat until his right elbow was shrieking at him to stop moving.

"Barnes! Come on, man!"

"Bucky!"

He snapped to attention, heart hammering all over again and eyes blown wide. Nat and Sam both came to a stop a few feet away, looking alert, tired, and worse for wear. But they were alive. That was all that mattered.

His tongue swept against his split bottom lip. "I couldn't carry him, not with one arm." He stretched his right shoulder, slowly extending out his arm. A dull ache in his elbow was the only pain response. Still broken, but better. Manageable. He must've dozed, and been in one spot long enough for the break to reknit.

"Get the van over here. They both need attention. We need to get to the Tower," Nat murmured to Sam, before turning away from him and coming closer. She squatted down on Steve's open side as Sam ran back in the direction they had come from, studying his face. "You did it."

He didn't respond.

Carefully, she slowly lowered her hand and pushed his long blond hair off his forehead. "I never saw him without the mask, not in the light. He's more...human, now."

"He's the only good part of me."

She smiled, closed-lipped and thin. "I don't think that's true, Bucky. You should know that isn't true."

"Nat..." He shook his head, his voice dying. "I failed. He was the one good thing, and I left him for dead."

"You couldn't have known." Her eyes flicked down, at where his fingers were still pressed to his pulse. She did not comment on it, just looked back up and set her hand on his wet shoulder. "You're a good man. No matter what people tell you."

Steve jerked awake, throwing himself up into a sitting position. Nat skittered away, falling onto her back in the mud. He collapsed sideways into Bucky's chest, muttering, " _A good man. Not a perfect soldier_."

"Steve -"

He flinched away from Bucky, suddenly finding his strength. He looked at him like he had just woken up from a bad dream and had no idea what was or wasn't reality. He whispered, "What have I done?" before turning his eyes down to the mud, staring at his hands. His right hand trembled with a vicious storm, but the left remained perfectly still. "Who did I hurt?"

"Just me. It's going to be okay," he promised. "You have people that are here to help you."

At that, he was in action. He grabbed Bucky by the collar of his blue coat, shoved him down, and flipped over him. But he was spent, and his expecting crouch turned into a messy, exhausted roll. He landed half in the water, eyes frenzied. "Not the chair," he insisted. "Don't take everything away again."

Bucky opened his mouth again, but Nat was suddenly moving past him, shoulders set with purpose. She slowly edged toward the heap that was Steve. "I've been in the chair, too. You know I have."

"I'm so sorry, Natalia. I didn't - I remember all of them." He looked haunted as he said this, so vulnerable - confiding in Nat and putting himself at her mercy.

"You were forced. I was forced. I'm not holding that against you." She slowly crouched down, a nonthreatening example. She wouldn't loom over him, put herself above him on the hierarchy.

"Please don't leave me here," he begged, not looking up. He cowered on the ground, head bowed and limbs shaking as the cold from the water and air set in. He was breathing heavily, chest heaving as he gasped and shivered. "I can't go back to them - _I don't want to go back_."

Bucky trudged over to him, exhaustion dripping from his bones. He lowered himself to one knee beside him, away from the cold water. He folded his arms over his knee. "You didn't finish me off up there."

He squeezed his eyes shut, pain clear in every line on his face. "I - You - You buried my mother in my place. You - I couldn't...Why would I ever hurt you?" His eyes opened and he raised his head, his mouth curling in sorrowful distaste at the dark bruises blotting Bucky's face. He held up his trembling hand and gingerly touched the pad of his thumb to Bucky's bottom lip, over the split that had yet to completely heal. As if he couldn't believe his eyes, as if he was defeated and overcome with despair, he whispered, "I never should have hurt you," like he was admitting to have murdered God.

< | >

Day one should've been the hardest. But it wasn't.

Knowing Steve was alive changed everything. He felt like he was watching him fall, hearing him scream, on repeat. That he was taken back in time to when the drawings were released, where Steve wasn't there but it felt like he was. This Steve, with his long hair and a metal arm, wasn't really Steve. He was a shell of the man he used to be, hollowed out by trauma.

On day two, time trickled at a snail's pace, like he was watching an hourglass drain grain by grain. Bucky spoke to no one; he had barely talked to even Steve - who spent most of his time in one room. At times, he came out and paced, to ramble Russian nonsense to Bucky's tired ears or to suddenly attack him when he thought he was caged, but he always retreated back to the empty room.

Day three was when the screaming started. Tony didn't hesitate to put on his suit, and the father and god-son had pinned Steve's arms down and dragged him through the Tower, screaming bloody murder and thrashing between them.

On day ten of knowing Steve was alive, Bucky sat at the edge of the pool on the Tower's party deck, glaring at the colorful night-time New York skyline, checking his phone whenever it buzzed.

The nurse at the psych ward - Kimberly, a sweet thirty-something-year-old with LGBTQ+ pins on her badge lanyard and a kind smile that she sent everyone's way - kept him updated, in these early days. When the screaming had started, Tony had told him of the plan he and Bruce had made as he and Bucky had carried Steve out.

The plan involved a small, trustworthy mental hospital for teenagers and adults, that had already signed the inexcusable amount of NDAs and other legal documentation, and were prepared to bring Steve Rogers into their care.

The updates were to ease Bucky's nerves, and to keep him on call in case some super strength was needed. Kimberly was sweeter than the watermelon and kiwi gum Clint had chewed since he was a teenager and had gotten Nat hooked on as soon as she was stateside. When she had seen the brimming tears in Bucky's eyes as Steve was sedated and prepared for some sort of isolation (he had no idea what the technical terms were, but he knew they had to get Steve alone so there wouldn't be a risk of him hurting others), she had set a reassuringly warm hand on his arm, promised that things would get better, and had pulled him into a motherly bear hug. To which he had muttered, "You give good hugs," and made her laugh.

His phone vibrated against the concrete, double-time, and he picked it up to read the new notifications.

_Kimberly Cheney: Steve has settled down. We just sent a therapist in to speak with him. Mr. Stark sent one of his suits, so you don't have to worry about intervening_ _._   
_I hope you've been taking care of yourself. During this tough time, you need to remember that Steve isn't the only person to pay_ _attention_ _to._

Bucky inhaled deeply and forwent a reply, barrelling on to the next. It was yet another attempt from his family at getting ahold of him. Chrys, Bee, Dominic, and so many more. It was overwhelming, almost, how many people were trying to speak to him. He kept getting emails from the press, Pepper was trying not to pressure him but he could tell that she was floundering in it, and Jarvis kept warding off unwanted calls.

He planned on calling his brother back within the next couple of days. He just...He needed to get ahold of himself.

He set his phone to the side again and crossed his arms over his chest, rubbing his palms up and down his bare biceps. His sleeveless T-shirt was made out of white cotton, tie-dyed rainbow, with spelling on the back that said **_BEST GRANDPA EVER!_** , surrounded by the signatures of all his grandkids and great-grandkids. It had been a group effort for Christmas two years before, and Bucky had _definitely_ not hidden his teared-up eyes in Nat's shoulder blade after receiving it.

Bucky exhaled, long and releasing. The muscles in his back relaxed, letting his shoulders drop and slump over. He dropped his eyes from the skyline, gazing down at the lit-up pool. The light was highlighted in the curves of the surface, reflecting down on the rectangular pool floor. It was a web of white over the light blue, constantly moving and changing, easy to stare at and get lost in.

He came out of it when he felt a body settle down beside him. He glanced to the side to see Nat. She lowered her bare feet into the water, the pastel yellow of her nail polish turning a soft green under the blue lighting. She leaned into his side and set her head on his shoulder, and he put his head on top of hers, just like he always did. At her example, he finally found the courage to dip his feet into the water. The temperature shock settled in his bones, lacing up through his legs and into his stomach, but he would give it time to mellow out.

"We haven't talked at all," she murmured, voice soft. She slid her fingertips along his forearm as she reached down and took his hand, lacing their fingers together.

"I'm sorry for disregarding you," he started, jumping right in. He knew they would have to talk about recent events, he just hadn't known when it would happen. With Steve coming into the mix ( _why did Steve have to be involved with all of his relationships?_ ), everything changed. Bucky couldn't be with Nat anymore, not the exact way they were before Project Insight. "I just got overwhelmed, too much was happening too fast -"

"You don't have to explain." She traced the pad of her thumb over his knuckle.

They lapsed into a steady silence, staring at the water, until Nat won the race to the million-dollar question;

"What happens to you and I?"

Bucky sighed and raised his head. He turned his body partway toward her, sliding a knuckle under her chin to raise her head. He had to look at her as he spoke, because he was addressing her and not the water. He would look her in the eyes, like he always did. He pressed a soft kiss to the corner of her mouth and leaned his forehead against her temple before speaking; "I love you," fell from his lips, and they both froze before giving way. Of course he was the first one to say it. "You know I do, I've just always been so scared to tell you. Every time I've loved someone, something goes wrong, and I didn't want what we had to be ruined...But I made this decision way back when, when I was a teenager. Steve's my other half. Always has been, always will be. He's it for me." He pulled away, just enough to see her hair as he tucked a loose strand from her messy braid behind her ear. "The decision's set in stone, and it's the only thing I'd ever be okay with...But actually going through with it? That's the hard part."

"Your entire life just changed," she said, speaking the unspoken truth.

He nodded. "Yeah. It has..." He sighed, and raised their still connected hands. He pressed the back of hers to his chest. "I just...I really don't want to lose you in all of this." He found himself unable to say _you're too important to me._

She shook her head and promised, "You're never going to lose me...I love you, too. As long as I get to have you in my life, I'm fine with whatever you want." She squeezed his hand, strong and firm. Grounding. "We're friends, first and foremost."

"We're there for each other."

"Watching each other's six."

He chuckled, and she gave a light laugh in response. Their slight amusement trailed off before she added, "I couldn't have done any of this without you and Clint. I'll always remember that."

He smiled, albeit a little modest. "I'll never regret sticking my neck out for you."

She grinned, but it quickly disappeared. "Tony sent for our things, in DC. Sam took the cats to his house the other day and is on his way here. I'm going back in two days for conferences."

His brow furrowed. "But you just got back?"

"I have another round of dealing with the vultures." She huffed. "They think they own our lives. They don't realize that we have never had to listen to them."

Bucky just squeezed her hand in reply.

And after what seemed to be an eternity of silence, Nat got up and left. When the wet footsteps leading away from him began to evaporate, Bucky leaned back and went limp. He slipped into the taunting water beneath him, letting himself get completely submerged.

**| 2015 |**

The loading ship was nonexistent; Bucky was - and had always been - sitting in the suburban New York house, curled up on the couch with a book, back to the door.

The war was over. He was home.

_But_ _the_ _war has been over for years -_

Red spasmed across the picture of serenity, and Bucky winced. He carefully closed his book, placing his pen on the inside curve of the spine.

Fingers carded through his hair. He leaned into it, tipping his head against the back of the couch. "Hey, doll."

Steve leaned down and pressed his lips below Bucky's jaw. He asked, voice slightly muffled as he was preoccupied, "What're you reading?"

_P_ _eggy -_

The neutral walls went red, and Bucky groaned, his eyes falling shut. Pain flared through his whole body, hot and sharp, not cold and aching like it usually was. Steve's kisses were searing, like little burns instead of the feather-light touches he knew and cherished.

"Steve -?"

"Don't leave me here. Please, please, don't go."

Wind howled in his ears, a sudden cold biting at his skin.

"Buck, you can't let go-"

His eyes snapped open. Steve's hand was in his, and it was the only thing keeping him from death. The train raced on its metal and wood tracks, forcing the air to rush around it, to make way.

"Don't let go - You can't let go!"

_But I only caught tags -_

Bucky tried, desperately, to pull him back in. He braced his hand against the folded wall and pushed against it as he pulled, but the wind just sucked at Steve's limbs and pulled him back with more force than Bucky could handle.

Like a bad dream, their fingers were slipping. He was too low to grab onto the wall. There was only mountain below him, a deep ravine of ice and snow.

Bucky cursed, tears pooling in his eyes. He couldn't let go. He couldn't, he wouldn't - Steve wasn't going to die, not on his watch.

_Not this time._

Their hands slipped more, until their palms were barely overlapping. Steve's fingers strained for purchase on Bucky's hand, but there was nothing.

"No, don't - Buck, don't leave me here!"

His begging scream was chilling, and Bucky froze.

_It didn't happen like this -_

Red snapped across his eyes, and their fingers flew apart. Steve's scream - _one I've already heard before, that was seared into my nightmares_ \- echoed across the mountains.

Then _he_ was suddenly screaming, arms and chest and legs pinned by leather straps. His body was boiling over, through the cuts and slices on his skin that were steadily closing. His words weren't reaching his brain - nonsense and pleas that were never going to be listened to. Zola cut into his healing wounds, and Bucky just continued to howl.

"Fucking rat -!"

"Oh, oh, oh, Sergeant Barnes. You must play nice."

_I'll show you nice -_

The sole of his right foot burned, and Bucky was screaming unintelligibly all over again. Numbers passed through his head, a reminder or a - a grounding? Something. He needed it. He needed them. 325507 -

Sudden death swept through his veins. The numbers scattered into space, leaving him alone in his suffering.

"Your Captain will love this. Everyone will love you. You will be better than anything."

"You are the best thing, Buck. I don't deserve you." Lips were pressed to his. He was sitting in a bed, leaning up against a pillow, a weight in his lap.

He kissed Steve back. Was all he could do, before he had to say, "You deserve everything."

_But I've got nothing -_

The bright fluorescent light above the table glared into his eyes. "You will be the world's reckoning," Zola droned. "The new fist of HYDRA."

The skin on his palms were burned and peeled raw. His own shovel - the metal hot and covered in coal - slammed into his back, a burst of cold striking through his chest to rival the hot wound, shocking a hoarse cough through his sandpaper throat.

Then he was, once again, alone. Surrounded by a screeching silence. His ears rung, an annoyance of a buzz. Wasps swarmed in his head, trapped. The stars twinkled overhead, the tops of dark trees reaching desperately toward their light.

But the supremacist flames reached them first, showing the hooded figures with cut-out eyes.

"What are you?" George Barnes demanded of him, standing above him as if he had won.

Bucky, inhaling with a wheeze as loud of his beating heart; "I'm nothing."

The light of a photographer's camera blinded him, leaving pale green and purple spots in his vision that he could only attempt to blink away. He turned his head, and found himself enveloped in strawberries and chrysanthemums.

_Oranges_ _and cream -_

He reared back, expecting to see Peggy's sympathetic smile, but instead found himself looking into Nat's emerald eyes. Her lips were wet with ruby blood. It oozed from a wound in front of her shoulder, another at her waistline. Bruises covered her skin, an unsteady ring around her throat, blotted around her eyes and on her jaw.

"You promised you'd never hurt me," she whispered. "You promised you'd never let _anyone_ hurt me."

A strong arm looped around his waist, spinning him around. He knocked into Steve, both of them dressed in their neat military uniforms, as another burst of light blinded him and the big band swelled.

"I didn't leave you for dead," he murmured, pressing their foreheads together. "Why did you leave me?"

Bucky tore himself away from him. The sketch book slid off his lap and fell to the floor of their apartment, scattering the polaroids and folded sheets of notebook paper. His balance was hard to get a grasp on, but he managed to stay upright on his trembling legs. "No, no -"

_Get me out of -_

Steve barely made it across the fire. His boots hit the metal catwalk with a -

He couldn't breathe. His chest - there was something pulling on his intestines, on his heart strings; his level head was left back in the Alps -

Ice pressed him on all sides. Water - _you'll catch your death out there, boys_ \- pushed against his lips, inside his nose, until his body forced himself to try to breathe.

The ice water in his lungs... _was this was pneumonia felt like?_

"No, no - no!" his men were yelling, Dugan and Falsworth were stretching through the bars, weak and scorched fingers tangling into his torn trousers.

He was suddenly multiple feet away, shaking from the chill in his chest and the cough he refused to let loose, gun to his head by the new Colonel that succeeded Lohmer after Falsworth and Dernier plotted his demise. "Pick a replacement," he offered, gesturing to where Dugan was simmering in his fury. "One of them could easily take your place, Sergeant."

Bucky just leaned his clammy forehead into the muzzle of the gun.

Steve pulled him back in, hands warm on the small of his back. His eyes were clear, so unbelievably vibrant. "We can go home, Buck," he promised, tucking his temple against Bucky's. Bucky felt his eyelashes against his cheekbone and it struck him as such a tiny detail to add into this nightmare. "All you have to do is open your eyes."

He pulled Steve closer, pressing his face into the crook of his neck. When he opened his eyes, the love of his life vanished from existence. The world went reeling. Murky brown replaced the shelter of Steve's bulk. Yellow lights swarmed his vision - he shook his head, and the crates around him came into focus.

_What happened?_

There was red. A girl came up behind him, wiggled her fingers - then his mind took the wheel.

"- _for a while._ _The_ _whole_ _team is down_ ," Clint's voice said through his comm. " _You got no backup here."_

A moment of silent passed. " _I'm_ _calling in Veronica,_ " Tony informed.

Bucky sat up - cold spikes erupted in his spine, pressing his back. A groan escaped his throat, but he pushed through, using a wooden box to heave himself to his feet. He pressed his finger to his ear;

"What happened? Clint?"

" _Meet at the jet, Buck,_ " he replied, voice worn short.

< | >

Bucky jumped to his feet when the elevator dinged. Nat flipped her hair over her shoulder as she walked out of the elevator. Sam stayed at Steve's arm, body relaxed. Steve looked a little nervous, restless as he swung his head around to get a look at the environment, at the people. The Avengers had prepared for this moment - the rooms of the Avengers Compound had been deeply cleaned, Steve had been given clearance in some locations but was locked from others. Bucky had wiped his space clean of anything that could have been a trigger - placed knives in his closet and in kitchen cupboards, slid the sketchbook between the head of his mattress and the wall, put together the guest room attached to his little apartment for him (he didn't leave it completely empty. There was some starter furniture. He also placed some little things that he knew Steve would appreciate, like journals and pens, sketchbooks and colored pencils and charcoals, some novels he had read back in the day. Other than that, he didn't didn't push anything. It wasn't his space to fill.)

"How was it?" Bucky asked, almost a whisper. Steve looked good - he looked, dare he say it, healthy. His skin had color, his eyes weren't dead or filled with fear. His hair was fluffy and messy from the breeze outside, cut to what it had been before HYDRA. He had grown out a beard, the hair trimmed close to his face. Bucky had never seen Steve with a beard. It was...different. Definitely not in a bad way.

His skin flushed red. He reached up to push his hair back from his forehead. "It wasn't bad. I mean, it was at first, but it wasn't by the end. I even made a few friends." He lowered the bag off his shoulder, walking toward Bucky and setting it on the couch. "They caught me up on a lot. The history lessons, they helped some of my memory."

"That's good."

Abruptly, Steve pulled him into a bear hug. Bucky froze for a few moments, though went compliantly. A hug from Steve was something he had wanted for a long time. Anything from Steve, even a punch or a stab wound, he would have taken it - and did - gratefully.

Steve - of course he did, what else does he know to do - ruined the moment; pushed him away and punched him in the stomach. Bucky groaned, breath hitching in his throat as he doubled over. Clint squawked in alarm.

"You married Peggy! _Fucking jerk_ \- she didn't deserve that!"

The tension wrapped around Bucky's chest burst - he laughed breathlessly, dropping his chin to his chest as he let himself fall to his knees. "I deserved that. It was...We...we were holding on to the past. It wasn't good." He pushed his back up into the side of the couch, pulling his legs out from under him. He looked back up at him, weighed with regret. "But we worked it out a while ago."

Hands settled on his hips, a spot-on image of Sarah Rogers, he exclaimed, "I can't believe you!"

He rolled his eyes. "Jesus, give me a little bit of credit."

"I should kick you, too."

He frowned, albeit playfully. "Yeah. Okay, _Sarah_."

Steve flushed a darker shade of red and looked alarmed. Deciding not to condone the comment, he steered the conversation away from his mother, which made Bucky feel a sharp jab of guilt. God, that was so insensitive of him; "And she's, um - still alive. They told me that."

Bucky followed his lead, confirming, "Yeah, she is. She's in a retirement home in DC. The grandkids see her the most. I fly down twice a month, and stop in when I'm in the area." He tapped his temple. "Her memory isn't so great anymore."

"Am I allowed to see her?"

Bucky couldn't have him thinking like that. All Peggy had wanted, for years, was to see Steve again. "Why wouldn't you be?"

He shrugged, almost sheepishly. He sat down on the couch beside Bucky's shoulder, arms limp in his lap. "Do you really think she'd want to see me?" he asked, like he couldn't wrap his head around the idea. "Thi-this mess?"

"Aunt Peg's waited long enough." Tony pointed between the two men out of time, swooping in and dropping down onto the armchair around the corner from the couch, the short side of the rectangle that the furniture created. With an authoritative finger-point, he said, "Next time Buckaroo goes, you're going, too."

"'Aunt Peg?'" Steve echoed, now looking more so confused than lost.

Tony waved the name off. "I grew up with Peg and Buck around. I was there for a lot of the big things, and they were there for me - the divorce, the car crash, Buck coming back to the house after getting attacked by the KKK -"

"I still can't believe the Klan went after you," he said, leaning closer.

"Well, let's see." He started counting on his hand; "I'm a Jew, a public black rights supporter, gay, and divorced from my wife." He waved his four fingers in the air. "Why wouldn't they target me?" He shrugged, letting his arm fall practically limp. "But I killed all but one of their guys, I think it was the one I bit, so they left me alone after that."

Steve sighed, rubbing his fingers into his sinuses. "Bucky...You make my head hurt."

He twisted around with a look that could only be classified as 'oh, really?' He set his arm on the couch beside Steve's leg, elbow digging into the cushion. "Now you know how it feels. Getting beaten into a pulp basically every day in a back alley - I could barely keep up with you."

The other Avengers gravitated over to the furniture. At some point, pizzas and multiple two-liters had joined the mix. Bucky had gotten up on the couch, sandwiched between Steve and Wanda. Rhodey and Nat sat on the other couch, Clint on the floor in front of their favorite red-head. Tony and Sam took the two armchairs between the two couches. Vision was nowhere to be seen.

As Nat and Bucky couldn't stop laughing, Clint goaded them further. Pointing a finger at Bucky, he said, "You know what G always said."

"What? 'Cheese is a full meal?'" Bucky joked.

"No!" he exclaimed. "'The only pain that is worth the struggle is a pain in the ass."

Sam snorted and Wanda was thrown into a fit of giggles, as Tony gave a wistful sigh. "Man, I miss our favorite S.H.I.E.L.D. agent named Grant."

The blow to Agent Ward was obvious to Bucky, Nat, and Clint. The latter gave a loud, deep, "Ooh!" from the back of his throat.

"Who's Grant?"

Bucky froze at Steve's question, the rim of his glass against his bottom lip. Until right before that question, he had only been called 'G' if he was mentioned. He quickly lowered his hand, the bottom of the glass immediately creating a condensation circle on his denim-clad thigh."Um...my son. My oldest."

Steve was silent, his brow steadily drawing in. Under his breath; "Grant Micheal Barnes...Level Nine clearance." His brow pinched even more. "Breached security, risk to..." His eyes then went wide, guilt and fear spreading over his face. He jerked away from Bucky, scrambling off the couch, fingers fastening in his hair.

Bucky immediately knew, sweeping in; " _Don't_. Don't. I've known for a year. It wasn't you. You were ordered because he had figured out that you were still alive, and he had been trying to tell me."

"He - How the hell can you forgive me for this?" he exclaimed, voice booming.

"This isn't forgiveness. When he died, I wanted to tear the killer apart limb by limb and watch him bleed. That hasn't really changed. This," he waved a hand in the air between them, "is understanding. I told Peggy, my kids, his kids, and they understand, too. The Winter Soldier killed my son. Not Steve Rogers. Not his uncle."

He froze at 'uncle.' Breathlessly, voice harsh, he demanded, "You named your son after me? Why would you name your son after me?"

"No, the question is - why the hell did you name one of your daughters Chrysanthemum?" Clint asked, waving a slice of pizza at him. Bucky sighed - though he sent a thankful look his way - already knowing the whole spiel.

Steve turned back to him after looking at Clint as he spoke. "You have daughters?" he squeaked.

"Two. Chrys and Bianca. They're still alive."

Steve turned his gaze to the floor, overwhelmed with the information. After the count of ten, he murmured, "I bet they're strong and beautiful. Like their ma and their aunts."

He smiled sadly, dropping his chin down. "Grant was a lot like you. Wanted to do what was right, stand for the little guy, do everything he could to change the world. He was Peggy and Fury's Deputy Director...Chrys is a lot like her mom. She's a fucking stone wall. And Bee wouldn't hurt a fly." He added, "Chrys is in Brooklyn, Bee's in Jersey, if you ever want -"

"She moved to _Jersey_?" he exclaimed, disgust dripping from his voice.

Bucky glowered at him. "You wanna meet my kid or not, punk?"

He rolled his eyes. "Yes, I wanna meet them. Why wouldn't I?" He reached over the back of the couch to grab his drink and shut himself up. He swallowed the sip, and expanded; "They're family. Gotta meet family."

"Can we _please_ stop talking about Bee?" Tony asked, holding a new slice of pizza.

"Boo!" Clint and Nat - who had grabbed a bottle of vodka from the kitchen for themselves, and Sam every now and then - both exclaimed, throwing the wadded up napkins from the coffee table at Tony.

"No. _You_ don't talk about my daughter. I do. Anyone else can. I'm still pissed at you."

"How many times do I have to tell you, the model thing was not my fault," he defended. Bucky rolled his eyes. Tony's side of the Valentine's-Cheat-Day was that the woman had forced herself on him, he hadn't had the chance to stop it before Bee did, and that she wouldn't let him explain the situation. Bucky didn't say who was right or wrong. But Bee was his daughter, Tony was his godson. The rightful side was very clear.

When Steve didn't come back to sit on the couch, Bucky pushed himself up. "Okay. Barton. Bottle." Clint handed the vodka bottle up to him. Bucky took a hearty swig, burning his throat as it went down. He sighed when he pulled the bottle from his lips and handed it back down. "Steve, you're about to meet another one of my top ten favorite girls. Her name is Alpine -" Nat, Clint, Sam, and Wanda all giggled, "- she's a bastard, and I love her with all my heart."

Steve's brows drew in. "Okay?"

"Let's go!" He started toward the exit that would lead to the side stairwell, and Steve trailed behind after scooping up his bag. Holding open the door for Steve, who ducked through, Bucky said, "Wanda, go to bed before they get drunk," and darted into the stairwell, letting the door shut behind him.

"So, who are your top ten favorite girls?" Steve asked as they climbed, the tremor of a surpressed laugh in his voice.

Bucky chuckled. "Top five is Nat, Wanda, Chrys, Bee, and Alpine. The others sometimes change. My niece Carmen - I'll have to show you the project she made for her editing class. She put a bunch of the war reels in color. I went to her school when she presented. It was amazing - Pegs, obviously. And then my ma, Becca, and Ellie."

Steve frowned. "Are your siblings still around?"

"Dominic's alive and kicking. He and his wife, Gracie, have a townhouse. It's pretty nice."

"What happened to your sisters?"

Bucky pursed his lips. "I'll answer that once we get settled." They came to their desired floor, and Bucky pressed his thumb to the sensor above the door handle.

"Hello, Captain Barnes," F.R.I.D.A.Y. greeted. "Did you have a good day today?"

He stepped through the door, arm stretched behind him to hold the door for Steve. "Stressful, but good in the long run." They trailed through one of the multiple living spaces, and Bucky asked, "FRI, is Captain Rogers set up for access to my room?"

"Mr. Stark added him to the program last year."

When they came to his door, between Nat and Sam's, Bucky gestured at the scanner. "Thumb scanner. Go ahead."

Steve did as instructed, and the lock disengaged. He twisted the knob and pushed the door open, stepping inside Bucky's personal apartment.

Some rooms in the compound were bigger than others. Bucky had one of the studio style rooms. He had a little kitchen, a fairly good sized living room, and then a little step-up alcove behind his couch for his bedroom, a door leading back into a walk in closet. Beyond the kitchen and living room, there were two doors, one leading to a master bathroom and the other opening up into the guest room. The walls were a navy blue, the furniture in neutral browns and greys. There were framed posters and pictures along his walls - old and new photographs of family (he had one whole wall meant for family things, from photos of newborn babies to fingerpaints Bailey's girl Jaimie had done in preschool), movie and music posters (yes, there was a poster for a movie about he and Steve, because it was a good movie and it had made Bucky and Bruce both sob uncontrollably long after the credits had ended), and drawings from that old box Dominic had put aside for him the week of their ma's funeral.

Steve was immediately in front of the family wall. He touched a waxy photograph of Bucky standing beside James, the two of them holding onto the newborn Jaimie.

Bucky came up behind him. "That's Jaimie. She's turning 10 this year. And that...that's James."

Steve was silent for a few long moments. When he spoke, it came out breathlessly, "Oh god, I forgot his face." He glanced back at Bucky, his eyes filled with guilt. "How is he?"

"He, um..." Bucky sat down on the arm of his blue couch. It had followed him everywhere for over a decade. "He's getting up there in age, you know? He's in a home. Besides that, he's not doing too bad."

"And Elizabeth?" he asked, swinging back around to the photo collage.

"She had triplets, in the eighties. She's still really active. She's been doing a lot of traveling since retiring about a decade ago, and Willow usually goes with her."

"Did Becca ever remarry?"

He grinned. "She actually married Gabe."

Steve whirled around, eyes sparkling. A grin affecting his words, he exclaimed, "What?"

"They had twins." He stood up and scanned the collage, before coming up on a picture of the twins and Grant. He pointed at it, and Steve immediately tracked his gesture. "Two thousand and three. Matthew on the right, Charles on the left. And that's Grant."

Steve stared at the picture, the joy from his eyes slowly sucking out. "I remember him."

Bucky chewed on the inside of his lip. "Yeah?"

"...I went to Becca's funeral," he realized.

"We followed you to that alley. We didn't have the means to do anything. I'm sorry."

Steve paid him no mind. "I was on a mission in Brooklyn and saw the obituary. I decided that I had to go." He swallowed, hard. "It was like an itch under my skin. And then I saw all of you, and it was like I was supposed to be there. But I was being followed. I couldn't put any of you in danger." His eyes studied more of the pictures, and he paused when they landed on one of Bucky and Jessie walking in the New York Pride Parade. Bucky had gone all out and made a statement, wearing his Rainbow Steve sweatshirt and black fishnets under his torn jeans and - new, after the sole had split from his old ones. They had a bunch of buckles and Bucky loved them way too much - combat boots.

"That's Ellie's partner," he supplied.

Steve grinned. "You got to meet Jessie." It was less of a question, more of a statement. The jealousy was clear in his voice.

Bucky chuckled. "She's great. Doesn't take any shit. Total cat mom."

Beside that picture was one of him and Nat - one that Clint had taken in their apartment in DC. They had their respective cats on their laps, and Bucky was asleep with his head on Nat's collarbone.

"How long have you known Natalia?" he asked.

Bucky wasn't surprised by the question. "She defected from the Red Room eleven years ago. I was her Superior Officer at S.H.I.E.L.D.. We lived together in DC." He chose not to say that she had told him a lot about her time in the Academy. It wasn't the time for that. He instead stood up, and put his hand on Steve's shoulder. "You don't have to look at all these now. I'm not taking them down anytime soon. We can spend time looking at them tomorrow. You can decide who you want to meet."

"I want to meet all of them," he murmured. He turned his head toward Bucky.

He nodded. "Everyone calls you uncle Steve. They'll be excited to hear that you want to meet them." Steve smiled, light and made of sunshine, and it took him back in time. Bucky slipped his palm down his arm to his hand, and tugged him toward the bedroom alcove. "C'mon, we have to meet my bastard fluff monster."

He laughed and let Bucky lead him along. They sat on the bed and Bucky lifted the pillow of the top of the mini pillow fort, revealing his white cat. She snapped awake at the intrusion, her blue eyes wide, and meowed at them.

"See? Spoiled brat." Bucky put the pillow back on top of the little fort, and resituated himself so his legs were crossed on the black and tan duvet. "Was today okay?"

Steve took a second to swing his hanging legs up onto the bed. When he did, Bucky saw that it was so he could toe off his shoes. "Today was..." he shrugged, a small smile on his lips. "There aren't any words to describe what I'm feeling, Buck."

"And that's good?" he teased, cocking his head.

He chuckled. "That's more than good."

Alpine slipped out of her fort and meowed at them again, rubbing up against Bucky's arm. He diverted his attention from Steve to rub his fingers behind her ears. She was purring within seconds, mechanical and powerful. She flopped over onto her back in the section of bed between the two men, showing off her soft-furred stomach.

"Clint calls her a man whore," Bucky felt the need to inform, petting the space between her arms.

Steve snorted. "What?"

Bucky leaned over and pressed a kiss to her neck. "She's a little man whore. Reminds me of Bluebell." He looked up at Steve. "Ellie and Jessie moved into an apartment together. They had two cats, sisters, Jade and Bluebell. Bluebell and I were best buds. She would cuddle with me whenever I slept over."

"Aw," he cooed, though he was busy holding his fingers in front of Alpine's nose. She took a few moments to sniff before beginning to butt at his fingertips and scent mark. "So how did Gabe and Becca meet? Because I'm pretty sure I have to know that story."

"January, nineteen fifty five. The Howlies came to see me because I was having a tough time, and they wanted to meet my family before they left. One thing led to another and - yeah. They got married in fifty seven. Had the boys a year later. They were all very happy when George left -"

"Your dad _left_?" he exclaimed, his voice and expression drowning in sheer disbelief.

"Yeah. Called us kikes and decided that with Ma out of the way, he was free to go. Ellie and Jessie got the house."

After the pause he took to process the information, he nodded in an agreeing understanding. "As she should."

Bucky nodded back. "Yes, of course."

"When did Winnie die?"

"Eighty six. Dom called me at Dugan's place."

He frowned. "You were the Nomad in the eighties, right?"

"Seventy eight to oh one. Dom called me and told me to come home. Pissed Dad off _big time_. But I was more pissed than him because I hadn't talked to my mom is seven years." He paused, and tugged at a loose thread in the blanket. "Do you remember much of her and Sarah?"

His hand froze on Alpine's flank. "Going back that far, it's all kind of a blur. I still have a far way to go." Bucky nodded his head, and he went on. "I remember latkes and onions. Laughter and smiles...The feeling of having a family."

The two lounged on Bucky's bed all night. Bucky explained some of the things Steve had learned in the hospital, told some stories about the Barnes family. Steve talked about some of his experiences with the teenagers at the hospital, which gave Bucky a whirlwind of emotions, and conflicted between laughing and crying. Alpine would leave them, but would always come back, more than happy to let them love on her. And when Steve fell asleep at five AM, Bucky was still wide awake, overwhelmed with the the love he had for Steve Rogers - a love that burned as bright as the sun, because light? That was what Steve was made from. He was gold and Bucky was silver; They were the sun and moon, destined for each other but never able to coexist for more than a certain period of time.

< | >

Bucky was really glad that day was one of her more lucid ones. He and Steve smiled at the nurses and waved as they passed the front desk, Bucky leading the way. Steve carried a bouquet of red flowers in both hands, to prevent his nervous twitching.

Before Bucky knocked on her door, he whispered to Steve, "She's not going to judge you for a thing. She's going to be glad that you're here, proud that you've lived despite everything thrown your way."

His tongue swiped over his bottom lip, and he nodded once. Only then did Bucky knock on the door, and open it after he heard the soft, "Get your ass in here, Barnes." Peggy glowered playfully at him as soon as he was in her sights. "I'm not getting any younger, you know."

"Yeah, I got that. That's why I brought someone special." He urged Steve to come in. The blond hesitantly stepped inside, shutting the door gently behind him.

"Steve?" Bucky was sadly used to Peggy breaking down, and that was the only reason her weighed tone didn't knock him off his feet. She sounded amazed and lost, pulled down by the clear trauma in Steve's eyes.

Steve, however, was not as lucky. He sat down in one of the two chairs on either side of her bed, leaning forward to clasp her hand with his right one. "Hey, Pegs. I've missed you."

Warped by her tears, she said mournfully, "It's been so long." She sniffled, and with a slightly clearer voice, she asked, "Whatever happened to you?"

"Yeah...About that." He let go of her hand to lift his jacket sleeve, revealing his metal wrist.

Peggy frowned, an angry crease forming between her eyes. The sad tears were gone, replaced by a molten hot anger that Bucky understood; " _How dare they?_ "

"I lost part of it in the fall. They cut the rest of it off. But," he smiled at her, "we're not here to talk about that."

Bucky finally dropped down into the second chair, propping his elbow up on the side of her mattress. "How you been, Pegs?"

"Bored." She let her head fall back against her pillow. "Chrys and West came and played Monopoly with me last week."

"Let me guess, she won?"

"She's never lost. What else do you think she did?" She turned her eyes on Steve. "Our kids are very competitive. Grant took Candy Land more serious than anything else, Chrys has never lost Monopoly, and Bee graduated as Valedictorian."

"But I wipe the floor with all of them when we play Bridge," Bucky smirked.

So the three old friends talked and reminisced. They spoke of horrible basic training experiences, old church picnics, a horrible first time meeting parents, and challenges the Howlies competed in to pass the time when they were away from base and couldn't move. Bucky got lost in the lives he had shared with these two amazing beings, and found himself unable to stop smiling.

Sometime after endless storytelling, he stood up and took hold of the water pitcher and two cups. "This is only water because I didn't want to get in trouble with the staff," he said, pouring out two half glasses for he and Steve. "We have something to teach Steve here." He handed him his glass before filling Peg's used one up most of the way, handing it to her, and holding his own up in a toast.

"Ah," Peggy rasped, all-knowing.

"Am I supposed to know what this is?" Steve questioned, glancing over at her.

"A tribute," Bucky explained, "to our brothers in arms. We did this whenever we needed it for comfort, and whenever someone died. Last I did this, it was when Dugan passed. Been a couple years."

Peggy lifted her water. "To Pinkerton and Sawyer."

"Falsworth, Dugan, and Gabe."

Steve followed suit. "Dernier and Mortia."

"We hope they are having a very fine time in hell," Peggy informed Steve.

"Oh, Dugan's the new Lucifer, you know this Pegs!" Bucky laughed before taking a drink through his smile. Steve guffawed in agreement.

She quirked an eyebrow and retorted, dryly, "Yes, I forgot. I'm so sorry. I seem to do that a lot, these days."

Bucky's water came out through his nose.

< | >

When Bucky kept getting dragged into Avengers business and caused he and Steve to miss a few get-togethers, their family took matters into their own hands.

He just wanted to go to bed. He had taken a harsh blow to the ribs, enough that he had heard them crack. His hands had been tied behind his back and his head dunked in freezing water -

He expected the usual; going to his room, taking the hottest shower he could, getting in his comfiest pajamas, and falling asleep curled up beside Steve - who was working his way through Bucky's book collection - and the purring Alpine.

The last thing he expected, trudging inside after unboarding the jet, was for Jaimie to tackle him around the legs. He went down cursing up a storm, Sam laughing tiredly behind him. His shield clanged against the floor.

"Shit - Jaimie - What's going on?" he asked, voice only slightly slurred from the painkillers and home-cooked Xanax Tony had forced on him.

"Grandpa Dom said that if you and Steve weren't coming to us, then we were coming to you!" She smiled up at him, a childish gap in her front teeth.

He huffed, sitting up. He pulled her off his legs and into his lap as he said, "Yeah? Well, we best not keep them waiting." With the almost-eleven-year-old tucked under his left arm like a football, he pushed himself to his feet. As he set her down beside him and they began their journey through the compound, he asked, "Who else is here?"

"Auntie Chrys, Bee, and Lizzie, and Uncle Matt."

He whistled, and guided her to the central stairwell. "Wow. Lotta people."

"Aunt Chrys tried to get them to wait, but Grandpa Dom got really impatient."

"Yeah, he does that. So what's going on in school, Jaimie-Bug?"

Her excitement soared through the roof, "I won a spelling bee!"

He grinned down at her. "Really? That's awesome! Did you get a ribbon or a certificate?"

"My ribbon's purple, and it's on my mommy's fridge."

"Sounds gorgeous, Bug."

She went on to chatter about her friends. Bucky tried to pay attention, he really did, but the clouds in his brain prevented him from latching on to any information. He let her go on as they walked to Bucky's room, as he pressed his thumb to the sensor and the door unlocked.

All eyes immediately turned on him. Chrys eyed his messy, still-damp hair.

"How was the mission?" Nat asked. She was curled up on the bed beside Steve, her bicep pressed to his metal arm. Alpine was splayed out in both their laps.

Bucky peeled off his gloves with shaking fingers and blindly tossed them into the kitchen. He unzipped his boots one by one, almost losing his balance on his trembling legs and falling over. He threw them at the open linen closet beside the door.

"James," Nat said, sharply.

His back went stick-straight. He gasped, "Nat," hand pressing his ribs. She immediately jumped up and was on him, pulling his hand away from his torso and demanding;

"What happened?"

"Something's cracked, but it went too long without care, so a doctor will be no use." He swayed into her, but she rightened him with a hand on his shoulder. "They just - I was drowning -"

"Sh, sh, sh. Come on, I got you." She grabbed him by the collar of his suit and led him through the apartment, past Lizzie and Matt's worried gazes, and into the large bathroom. She pushed him down to sit on the lip of the tub beside the glass-walled shower stall. He stared at the black and white checkered tiles under his feet as she shut the door behind them.

"How do you feel about a hot shower?" she asked, squatting down in front of him. She unzipped the suit from his right collarbone to his waist, to get him started.

"I feel gross," he said as an answer. He shouldered his arms out of the sleeves, the top of the suit hanging down behind his legs. The whole thing was one piece, and Bucky hated it. He stood up and began to loosen the belt.

"Do you want me to get them out?"

He shook his head, fumbling the stupid red utility belt. He paused for a few moments to say, "No. That's Steve's decision, they came for him...Where you with him, before they showed up?"

"He was having some trouble, remembering stuff from our shared past. I offered some support. We ate ice cream, watched some sad Disney movies from his list, talked about the Red Room." She shrugged. "It was the least I could do, you know?"

He nodded, finally moving the buckle the right way to undo the belt. He sighed in victory, letting each side hang from the loops. Knowing that Nat didn't mind seeing him and that he was wearing a thin layer underneath, he tugged the suit down his legs. "Is he doing better now?"

"He was really happy to see your brother. They seemed to have been close, before the war."

"We watched him for my parents. I was almost twenty when he was born, so Steve and I had our own place, and it got him away from our dad." He shrugged, folding the suit around his forearm. "Dom, Ellie, Lizzie, and James all spent a lot of time in our apartment when they were growing up."

She nodded her head, staying silent as to not force him to go on. She looped her finger in his muscle shirt, stained brown from dried blood. "You're getting rid of this." She took the suit from him and said, "Fix yourself up. I'll bring some stuff in for you." She then left, and he failed to move for a time after the door clicked shut between them.

He didn't hesitate to turn the water on as hot as possible, how he usually did after getting back from a mission. He stayed under the messaging spray long after his skin was burned raw, when his hair was turned soft from the berry-scented shampoo and conditioner in the caddy. Stepping out, he found pajamas waiting for him on the sink - a soft, simple long-sleeve sweater Nat had given him for his birthday one year, fuzzy slipper socks decorated with white and yellow ducks and daisies, and plaid fleece pants.

When he emerged from the bathroom, wet hair pulled up into a bun on his crown, Lizzie and Jaimie were gone. Matthew said his goodbyes, having been waiting for Bucky to come back before leaving. Nat decided to walk the man out, pressing a kiss to Bucky's cheek before she followed. Bucky scooped his kitten up in his arms - though she was more than a decade old, she would always be his kitten, just like his kids would always be his babies - and sat down on the bed.

Dom, Chrys, and Bianca made themselves comfortable, everyone reuniting as a family. When Alpine left his embrace, Bucky pulled Chrys in as a replacement. She didn't protest, just stretched her legs out to the foot of the bed and pillowed her head in his arm, at ease. Bucky held her tight, chin set on her shoulder.

And as soon as they were _finally_ left alone, Steve hauled him close and grabbed his hands, guiding them around his waist to the small of his back. Bucky locked his arms around him, pressing his face into his stomach and never wanting to let go. He was the moth and Steve was his eternal flame.

**| 2016 |**

"Hi, I'm Captain James Barnes. Apparently I have fans and they want me to do an interview with puppies." He held up one of the said puppies, and it yipped in his arms. Attention immediately diverted, he exclaimed, "Aw, I'm sorry," and put it down.

One of the producers handed him a glass jar filled partway with folded slips of paper. He set it on the floor front of him - Buzzfeed had different paper backgrounds, and his was a bright teal - and drew one.

"'Music has changed so drastically since the twenties. What are your favorite music genres/artists?' That's a good question." He folded the slip of paper and stuck it in his pocket, as he would do with every slip so the puppies didn't eat them. "My closet is full of rock band shirts, anyone who has been in my living spaces can tell you that. I fell in love with Joan Jett back in the eighties. The Shins are pretty good. SYML makes me feel things I shouldn't." He tried to think of more artists that he liked. "I like a whole bunch of things. I always get songs from movies in my head, like Grease and The Breakfast Club. There's nothing that I reallly don't like. Dolly Parton's a little iffy. Nine-to-Five, that's a good workout song."

As he drew another question, a brown and white puppy clambered onto his lap, and flopped down in his crossed legs. Bucky pet its soft flank as he drew with his other hand. "Hey, man. Tired of running around?" His eyes slipped over the other energetic puppies, that were snuffling at the floor and people's shoes, and the one that was trying to jump on Steve's lap. "'What was the best place you traveled to during your time as Nomad?' I went to Auschwitz in the nineties. It was, um...it was the most emotional destination, I think? Not the best. The best would probably be the Grand Canyon or the naturally painted rocks in Munising, Michigan, out in Lake Superior. I rented a kayak and rowed the forty miles. Swam in Rainbow Cave, in the Spray Falls. It's beautiful out there."

"What other places did you go to, Captain?" one of the producers asked. He couldn't remember her name - he felt like shit for that, but no one would have to know - but he did remember that it started with a C.

"I went to my ma's hometown in Ukraine. Balta, out in the Odessa Oblast. Saw my ma's childhood home, found some family that didn't get wiped out. It was...it was really great."

"You didn't tell me about that," Steve said. Bucky glanced over at him, saw the smile on his face.

He shrugged, reaching forward to draw another question with one hand, the other busy petting a puppy that had stopped beside him for some love. "Probably forgot to mention it." He directed his attention to the next question. "'As someone who has been through many hardships, what can you tell people that are having trouble with their own?'" He glanced over at Steve, the weight of the question settling in his chest. "One thing I learned over the years is...is that there's always something waiting for you, at the end of the road. My kids made my life better. Nat, Clint, and Sam made my life better." He shrugged. "If I had ended my life - which I've thought about too many times to be healthy - then I wouldn't have been there for the HYDRA revolution. I wouldn't have known Steve was alive, and he would have been stuck in that hell for who knows how much longer." He took a pause in the questions, glancing down at the passed out puppy in his lap. He looked over at Steve. "Can I take him home?"

He huffed. "No, Buck, your cat would kill him."

"You have a cat?" another producer asked. Multiple people had stopped in to see him, either ducking their head in through the door or coming inside for a minute as they got ready. He hadn't learned this guy's name.

He looked to just right of the camera, where he poked his head out. "Yeah. Her name's Alpine. She's a bastard." He reached forward and dipped his hand in the glass bowl, fishing for another question. He pulled a slip of paper out and read, "'Of all the political advancements that have been made, what are some of the best?' Ooh." He gathered his thoughts for a second, taking a breath. "Obviously, LGBT+ marriage is something that directly affects me, so that's one. Black rights. Healthcare. America could have better healthcare - if it were, you know, free and accessible by everyone." He shrugged dramatically.

"Are you a socialist?" someone wondered.

He grinned. "Definitely not a capitalist."

Steve snorted. He coughed into his fist, "Bernie twenty sixteen!"

Bucky snagged the puppy snuffling at his jacket and held it out to Steve. "Steve. Take a puppy. They keep jumping on you, just take one."

He huffed and stood, taking a few short steps onto the turquoise paper. He carefully sat down, so he didn't tear it with his shoes. They were some traditional modern brand sneaker, to rival Bucky's beat-up Converse. He took the puppy Bucky held out to him, loved on her as Bucky answered more questions.

"'What is one of the important lessons you remember from raising your kids?' To start - every kid is different. Techniques you used on your oldest might not work with your youngest. Grant was easy. Chrys was insanely stubborn, but so are me and Peg, so we'd all butt heads a lot. As she grew up, that became better? I didn't really get to raise Bianca. She was seven when Peg and I got divorced, and was just coming into her personality." He raked his hand through his hair, slipping the sudden flop of bangs off his forehead. "Listen to them. I tried to get Grant to not go to S.H.I.E.L.D. Academy. Look at everything he did. Most of all, be honest with them. I never lied to them. Sometimes I withheld some truth, but I never told a lie. It kept me close to them. If I wanted them to be honest with me, I was going to give them the same in return." He gestured at the jar with his chin, stroking his puppy's soft ears. "Steve, draw a question?"

"Jesus, Buck, you're fucking lazy." Bucky, as well as others in the room, couldn't reign in their laughter. He paraphrased, "How has food changed since you were a kid?"

"You can answer this one, too," he said, clapping him on the arm.

"Onions," he immediately said, looking directly into the camera lense. "I will never eat onions again."

"A signature Sarah Rogers dish had a boiled onion in it," Bucky remembered. "I don't know how you didn't turn into an onion."

"My breath took a shot at it."

 _Yeah, I remember._ "I don't know about you, but bananas still get to me."

"I learned about the Banana Republic in American History in high school," C said, "but my teacher never showed us how bananas changed."

"They used to kind of look like - squash?" He turned on Steve with a questioning look.

"Yeah, kind of like squash. Not as long."

Bucky went on, more confidently, "Squash-shaped, and they had hard seeds inside. It's so weird seeing bananas in the store now. Anyways. So many things are artificial, there's too much processed food."

"Now that I'm not just drinking protein solutions," Steve interjected, "everything tastes like plastic. But I'd take that over boiled onion and cabbage any day."

Before they drew another question, Bucky asked, "Are you _absolutely_ sure that we can't adopt a puppy?"

"Tony will never let you have a dog in the compound."

"Clint has Lucky," he reminded him, arching an eyebrow.

"Yeah, but Clint doesn't live in the compound, he just visits every now and then."

He sighed. "Another question."

"'With the advancements of media and communication methods in mind, would you ever consider setting up social media accounts? If so, how would you interact with people?'"

Petting his puppy, Bucky answered; "The Avengers actually all have a bet on when I'll get social media, and I'm personally rooting for Nat."

"What if we have our own bet?" C joked.

"How many views should this video _have_ to get for Bucky Barnes to get an Instagram?" Someone joked, and Bucky laughed.

"Half a million," Steve started.

"Dude," someone exclaimed, "Barnes is freakishly hot, he can get a million like _that_."

Bucky just laughed harder.

Less than a week later, @realjbbarnes was verified on Instagram. The profile picture was of Bucky holding Wanda bridal style, jokingly using her weight for his effortless reps. The first post? It had to be a video of the Avengers handing their money over to Nat and Sam, as the two discussed what they were going to spend it on.

< | >

Hampstead had changed since Bucky had last been there, back in the late forties to meet Peggy's parents. But it wasn't home to him, so it didn't jar him how the changes of New York did.

Chrys leaned into West's shoulder, a genuine smile on her lips. Bianca and Steve spoke in hushed tones, trading joke after joke. May and Gregory, Chrys and Grant's first born children respectively, critiqued the wine menu.

Bucky, meanwhile, checked in on Peter. Peter Parker's signature was on the shirt the great-grandkids had given him years before, despite only being in the family through marriage and transferred guardianship. Last they had spoken, in person instead of random texts, was barely two months before, at - coincidentally - another funeral. Before that, it was when Peter was sick after getting his powers.

"So, what, the Accords are meant to rule your life?" Peter whispered. In the restuarant atmosphere, only enhanced beings would be able to hear his hushed voice.

Bucky nodded. "The government would have almost complete control over any enhanced being that signs it. Captain America's already done this dance. I'm already owned enough, I can't let them -" his voice died, as he struggled to find words. "What if I hadn't fought during Project Insight? Everything I did that day was my choice. If Director Fury had gotten his way, I never would have gotten Steve back. And I don't think about where I'd be right now if that hadn't happened."

Peter frowned down at his plate. "And the other Avengers. They're all for the levy to pass?"

"Tony wants to be held accountable." He shrugged. "It doesn't make sense to me. You can be held accountable without signing over your rights to an unconstitutional and inhumane document."

Steve stood up, and pushed his chair back into place as he said, "I'll be back. Does anyone want anything while I'm up?"

"If you got me a strawberry milkshake, I wouldn't complain," Greg grinned, looking too much like his father for Bucky's comfort.

"On it." Steve ducked into the crowd.

"What happens to the people that don't sign it?" Peter wondered. "What happens to you?"

"The Secretary said we'd retire, but I honestly don't believe that. You gotta be real careful with your job, kid. They're gonna want to get you in on this, control you. You're already believed to be a vigilante."

He huffed, rolling his eyes. "Don't remind me."

Bucky picked up his glass of pure sugar, the soda still having yet to go flat in its exposure to the air around them. As he took a sip, a hand clasped his shoulder hard enough to make him startle and cough. He turned to face the person who had come up behind him. "What the hell -?" He cut off when he saw Steve's worried face.

"Buck, we have to go." His voice seemed shallow, hard and breathy in his alarm.

"What?" Bucky fully turned toward him. Their exchange caught the undivided attention of their family, and even some other nosy patrons. "Why?"

"Apparently, you bombed the UN."

His blood ran cold. " _What?"_

"There's videos of 'you' leaving a bomb in a news van and making an escape. _We have to go._ "

As he stood, Bucky pulled his phone from his pocket and tossed it to Chrys. She was one of the only people he trusted with it. "Call Nat or Sam and figure out what's going on. Text Steve the info." He stepped away from the table, beginning to follow Steve.

But then the doors of the establishment burst open. British Ops forces flooded the place, their guns trained on Bucky, even a few on Steve.

"Put your hands up!"

Bucky held up loose arms and paced back a few steps, covering Peter's back. "C'mon, fellas, let's not get overzealous here. Use your brains, please, and realize that I've been with my family all day."

The sound of a silenced gun went off, and Bucky braced himself for the bullet. A metallic _ting_ rang in his ears. He opened his eyes, unsurprised to see Steve's left arm bent in front of him.

If he wasn't in such a public setting, wasn't so surrounded by people and media, he would fight. But the eyes on him made him make a stupid, split-second decision.

"Take me in. Give me a trial," was all he said.

Glass shattered behind him, and a heavy weight landed on the table. Before he could react, an arm twisted around his throat, pressing into his windpipe. Caught off-guard, Bucky choked, but quickly used his lower standpoint to his advantage - he jerked his head back and pulled himself from the tense hold, immediately turning his back to Steve and the Ops forces.

The man who had shattered the floor to ceiling view window was fully encased in a black suit, little ears poking out from the top of his helmet. Authority and power radiated from him, a steady entitlement holding his back straight.

"Whatever you think I did - I didn't," he began, carefully. "I promise on my mother's grave, I didn't do a thing."

A heavily-accented voice responded from underneath the mask; "I don't believe a word of that." He clawed his hands, and silver spikes unsheathed from his fingertips.

"This is an open setting," Bucky began to insist. "These people don't deserve to get put in the cross-fire."

On the street, a grey mass came down, the clang of metal on asphalt sounding through the air. The man standing on the dining table turned, and Bucky - at one point - could have smiled at seeing Rhodes in his War Machine suit. Guns and repulsors aimed, he immediately got to business; "Off the table. On your knees. _Now._ "

Bucky did as told, hands folded behind his head. Behind him, Steve did the same. They were immediately flooded by the Ops force, their shoulders getting shoved and their faces being pressed into the ugly carpet.

As his wrists were getting cuffed, Bucky glanced up at the man in the black cat suit. He now held his helmet in his hands, an angry - though resigned - look on his face - his familiar face.

Rhodes greeted the man, "Your highness," right before Bucky was dragged to his feet and out of the restaurant.

< | >

Bucky clenched his hands into tight fists, glaring at the psychiatrist seated at the little table in front of his personal prison.

"You've been through a great deal, haven't you, James?"

He cocked his head. "I don't wanna talk about it." And he didn't. Yes, there was something greatly wrong with his head. It was one of the things he knew best. But a psych evaluation, for a crime he hadn't committed - he found the whole ordeal beyond redundant.

He wanted to know if Steve was safe. If he was with Nat and Sam. He wanted a trial. He had alibis up to his ears - it wasn't going to be hard to prove his innocence.

"You fear that..." he guessed, "if you open your mouth, the horrors might never stop...Don't worry." His eyes glanced down at the tablet in front of him, a small, devilish sense of victory rising on his face. "We only have to talk about one."

The words sent his nerves on edge. His eyes held something Bucky didn't want to gouge out, something he didn't want to understand -

Within seconds, the power cut, and Bucky's heart leapt into his throat. He exclaimed, voice low and gravelly, "What the hell is this?" as the psychiatrist stood and paced out from behind the table, sliding his wire glasses off his face.

Bucky watched him reach into his messenger bag. "Why don't we discuss your home? Not Brooklyn. Not even Ukraine." In his hand he held a red book with a daunting black star on the front. Bucky recognized it from the old recordings of Steve's time in captivity. It was the Winter Soldier handbook. "I mean your real home...You spent an...amount, of time in Azzano, yes?"

His stomach dropped. _He remembered it from Zola._

"Arnim Zola's experiments are well known, but the notes he took? The words he wrote for you have been long damaged. But there have been a few talented men able to read them." Cracking open the book, he asked, "Shall we see if their assumptions are right, Mr. Barnes?"

The man that was the original, incomplete Winter Soldier demanded, " _What do you want?_ "

"To see an empire fall."

< | >

Steve held a hand out to him, and Bucky took it just to be pulled closer, until his legs brushed Steve's bent knees. Steve gazed up at him, his pale blue eyes searching Bucky's long face, and assured, "I'm sure about this, Buck. But, what about you?"

"Zemo told me that very few people knew about my conditioning, and that they're all dead now." He shrugged, tilting his head down and to the side. "I can wait. You're our priority, Rogers."

One of the doctors shooed him away, and Bucky stepped back toward one of the windows looming behind him. Steve sent him one final smirk. "See ya on the other side?"

Bucky forced a smile. "I'll be here waiting."

He watched as Steve was set up inside of the clear tube, as he closed his eyes and succumbed to the sedative, as the frost raced up the glass. He found himself unable to take his eyes off the scene - he knew that this was good. He knew that this was a once in a lifetime opportunity, and the two men were beyond lucky to receive Wakanda's generosity. But after having Steve back for the last year, his heart ached at the very idea of letting him go again.

They didn't know how long the cryo would last. Could be a few months, could be years. And Bucky would be all alone again.

But like he told Steve - he would always be there, waiting. He'd done it before. He could easily do it again.

T'Challa came to a stop beside him, and Bucky tore his eyes away. He tucked a loose strand of hair back behind his ear as he said, voice soft and heartfelt, "I can never thank you and your family enough."

The to-be king of Wakanda shook his head. "You don't have to. Your friend and my father, they were both victims. If I can help one of them find peace..." He let the thought die, instead asking, "Will you be alright, Captain?

He wouldn't. The Accords had torn his mashup of a family apart. His blood relatives, the friends he had managed to make. And Tony...their bond had ripped right down the center. It didn't matter that he had been more of a father than Howard Stark had. It all not only boiled down to what they thought of the Accords, but the fact that Bucky had long ago promised he would never hit Tony.

And now he had.

Bucky inhaled deeply, turning his eyes back on the setting Wakandan sun. "I'll get there, one day."

**| 2017 |**

The two men sat in the little field in front of their cottage - it was secluded, and they had been moved to it when Steve had almost punched a hole through a thick tree trunk after waking up from a nightmare, in the days after getting out of cyro. The village kids could still get to them, but even the nearest neighbor had a hike awaiting them.

Bucky had no idea how this conversation had started, or how it came to this - to Steve's sad, overwhelmed eyes, looking like a rainy day. They had gone from sitting in their large fire pit to standing, having to move to make the nervous itch under their skin subside. Frustration - partnered with a horribly desperate energy Bucky couldn't begin to explain - made his stomach turn and his chest throb.

"You moved on," Steve repeated. Bucky had stopped keeping track of it.

He tried again, for the umpteenth time, "I never -"

"You had a _family_. We were never able to have that, and then you got it. How could I ever compare to that?" Bucky opened his mouth to reply, but Steve beat him and went on; "Then you were with Nat -"

"I was never _with_ Nat," he intereupted, voice hard. Steve snapped his mouth shut. He scrambled for words that could describe he and Nat - he loved her. Past or present, he was never sure. There were no words he could use for her, for the way she had made him feel as the world had gotten even stranger. "We were...It started as an agreement, and it turned into more. We were more like...pillars. Support. We..." He shook his head. "We were safe with each other, we understood each other, and we took advantage of it. We never even seriously told each other we loved each other until you first came back. When we broke it off."

"Yet you haven't _touched_ me, since I came back." He scoffed. "You've never treated me like this before, like I could break any second - even before I had the serum, when I actually could have."

"I wanted to wait for you," he swore, voice scraping in his dry throat. He rushed forward, placing his hands on Steve's hips and pulling him in. "I didn't want to make a decision for you. Stevie, babydoll, I've wanted you since before I knew what I wanted, never even knew exactly what I was feeling, _you know that_. I'm _always_ gonna want you."

Steve's hand ran up his arm, over his shoulder, and stopped at the crook of his neck. He pulled him in, fingertips digging into his nape -

The universal clock stopped ticking. Bucky was fourteen, getting his first kiss. Soft and sweet, hesitant but purposeful, small but absolutely groundbreaking; nineteen, pulling Steve in close to the curve of his torso as night fell on the day of his mother's barely-affordable funeral, kissing his tears away and pressing sweet nothings into his skin; twenty one, when their love was being declared in low, filthy grinds, a messy clash of lip, teeth, and tongue to match, his hands bruising Steve's little waist; twenty three, pushing the sketchbook down and pulling him back into bed; twenty five, kissing his way through tears the morning he was supposed to meet a ship to go to Britian; twenty six, pressing his mouth to Steve's as soon as he knew it was him, and he was off the dreadful table; twenty seven, the last time he had kissed him before the fall, a quick exchange when their men were all turned away.

Bucky gasped against Steve's lips, hands taking fistfuls of the shawl he wore - he couldn't remember the name of them, but they were Wakandan and they wrapped around the stump of Steve's arm perfectly. The name didn't matter - all that mattered was the man in front of him.

Teasingly, Steve murmured, "You wanted my consent before you did anything." He placed his lips just beside his ear; "Pretty sure you just got it."

His hands immediately slid down to the backs of his thighs - Bucky straightened his back, lifting him up into his arms. Strong legs locked around his hips, an arm wrapped around his shoulders, and their lips met once again. It was a new experience; the last time he had picked Steve up like that was nineteen forty two, when he weighed half as much and was a foot shorter.

Bucky got them into the hut, following the worn track in the floor to the bed - which was more like a nest of blankets and soft furs, the pillows pushed up around the clay-insulated wall. Bucky dropped to his knees at the edge, carefully lowering them down into the promise of warmth- not because he felt he had to be careful with Steve. But because he loved and cherished him, and he wanted to show him just how much after all these years of separation.

Steve's gasps were revelations. The drag of their skin was a rediscovery, a journey over ancient lands that were renovated by events and experiences. Bucky mapped out the places that made his lover squirm, that made involuntary sounds rise from behind his parted pink lips. He pressed soft butterfly kisses all around Steve's throat, dropping his head into the crook of his neck as they breathed together, which was a miracle in of itself.

Bucky rocked his hips, Steve's knees locked on either side of his torso. He held on to him, one palm pressed to the side of his throat - so he could just barely feel the thump of his heartbeat - the other spread in the center of his back. In return, Steve cradled Bucky's face, fingers tangled in his curls, bunching the shoulder-length hair up on the back of his head. Their foreheads were pressed. Tears slipped over the mountains and ravines of tanned skin and smooth muscle, creating lazy rivers and steady streams. They kissed like they never had before - they were soldiers coming home from war. The sounds leaving one mouth were breathed in by the other, creating a chorus of pleasure and love and utter _reunion_. Their souls were once again entwining. They were together again, and neither of them would _ever_ let go. They had waited for this without ever knowing if their dreams would turn into reality, lifting them from their ever-lasting miseries. Their immortality finally had a reason to keep them alive. Neither of them knew where one ended and the other would start. Brown turned to blond and the ever-changing current of the sea met the untouchable sky. They were Bucky and Steve, just how they had always been. Just how they always would be.

**| 2018 |**

The jet ramp closed, and Nat stepped out of its way, turning to walk deeper inside the belly of the plane. "I thought we had a deal. Stay close, check in. Don't take any chances."

Wanda raised her bowed head and apologized, "I'm sorry. We just wanted time."

Acting as pilot, Sam began to direct the jet to the destination Bucky had told Sam earlier that day, after he had gotten a very specific call and they had set off to find Wanda and Vision.

Vision asked, "Where are we going?"

Bucky leaned into Steve's side, feeling a sudden wave of exhaustion. This all felt like a dead-end. His partner had listened to the whole rant already - Tony had needed him, still did, and Bucky couldn't get to him after he promised he would. "The Compound." His tone left the jet silent, until;

The android continued, almost reprimandingly, "Captain, you do realize that the minute we arrive, the authorities will be called?"

"We're not showing up unannounced. I got a call, on the burner I gave Tony, from Bruce."

Wanda's brow pinched. She had never had the chance to get to know Bruce, to fully apologize for what she had done to him. By the time she was able to, he had disappeared in a jet to God only knows where. "He wasn't shown on the news."

"He has information about all of this. We just need to get to the compound." He leaned his head against Steve's cheek, and Steve nudged him away to put his metal arm around his shoulders. He pulled him close, and plastic crinkled. Bucky opened his eyes, and took the mint chocolate protein bar that was being shoved under his nose. He took a large bite, knowing he was crashing.

Wanda asked, quietly, "What happened to Tony?"

He finished chewing the mouthful, and said what he hated to admit; a simple, horrible, "I don't know."

< | >

Bucky's eyes fell on the 3D hologram meeting, at Secretary Ross as he tried to loom over the angry-looking James Rhodes. Bucky had heard their conversation as his team was coming in, before they were noticed and in plain sight, and was not impressed with Ross's power plays. He never had been, even when Ross had tried to blame him for Bruce Banner turning into a monster. With a glare, and a fake aura of excitement, as if he would ever be happy to see Ross, he greeted, "Ah, Mr. Secretary. Last time we were in business, you ordered a bullet in my head." He tapped his skull. "I smell some failure."

" _You got some nerve. I'll give you that_."

Hand on her hip, Nat rasped with a level, uninterested tone, "You could use some of that right now."

" _The world's on fire, and you think all is forgiven?_ " he tested, incredulously.

Steve stepped up, eyes focused on the 3D hologram. He looked calm, if not for the fire in his irises and the tense set of his jaw. "We're not looking for forgiveness, and we're way past asking for permission. Earth just lost one of her best defenders. So we're here to fight."

Bucky crossed his arms over his chest, over the hollow space where he had cut out the star in a fit of anger, after the Accords. "And if you wanna stand in our way..." he smirked, "we'll fight you, too."

Secretary Ross just looked at them for a few moments, his eyes alight with frustration and cynicism. Then he turned to Rhodes with a jerk of his chin. " _Arrest them_."

He raised the tablet in his hands. "All over it." He swiped to the side, and the hologram smeared before turning off. The Colonel turned to them with an attractive, genuine grin. "That's a court-martial...It's great to see you, Cap."

Bucky stepped forward for a hug, and they both clapped each other on the back before pulling away. "You look great, man. I'm happy you've been up and moving."

Nat darted in for her own embrace, and Rhodey gladly returned the enthusiasm. He said, all regretful business, "Well. You guys really look like crap. Must've been a rough couple of years."

Behind them, from where he kept Vision upright, Sam piped, "Yeah, well, the hotels weren't exactly five star.

"Uh, I think you look great." Heads and bodies swung around to follow the voice. In a soft sweater slightly too big for him, Bruce Banner had emerged from a doorway. _"_ Uh..." He breathed out a light, anxious chuckle "...Yeah. I'm back."

Bucky laughed - unable to help it. He and Bruce had been close, and he'd been worried about him for too many years - and started across the room, arms already outstretched. 

< | >

"We need all hands on deck," Bruce insisted. He turned around, clearly antsy, and asked, "Where's Clint?"

Nat explained, looking up from where she loved on Liho, scratching at her chin and neck (Rhodes had pulled Nat and Bucky aside before the debriefing began, and their cats had been waiting for them. Apparently Tony had never gotten rid of them, and Peter visited regularly to keep them company); "After the whole Accords situation, he and Scott took a deal. It was too tough on their families. They're on house arrest."

"Who's Scott?"

Steve said, through the fist that propped his head up, "Ant-Man."

Bruce turned wide, exasperated eyes on Bucky, who shrugged with Alpine still curled in his arms. "There's an Ant-Man _and_ a Spider-Man -" He shook his head. "Okay. Look...Thanos has the biggest army in the _universe_. And he is not gonna stop until he...he gets...Vision's stone."

"Well then, we have to protect it," Nat concluded.

"No, we have to destroy it," the android contradicted. After a great pause, where all eyes turned on him, he went on; "I've been giving a good deal of thought to this entity in my head. About its nature, but also its composition." He turned his eyes on Wanda, and began to gravitate toward her. "I think if it were exposed to a sufficiently powerful energy source, something, very similar to its own signature, perhaps...its molecular integrity could fail."

"And you, with it," she protested. She shook her head. "We're not having this conversation."

"Eliminating the stone is the only way to be certain that Thanos can't get it."

"That's too high a price."

He folded her distressed face in his hands, thumbs stroking her cheeks. Bucky had to look away, not able to stomach looking at the display directly. "Only you have the power to pay it." Wanda jerked away from him, but the android kept going, insisting, "Thanos threatens half the universe. One life cannot stand in the way of defeating him."

Bucky frowned, turning his eyes back on the pair. Despite the easy logic he knew - if the universe was on the line, he was more than okay with taking one life out of the equation. But this time, it wasn't his call. "We don't trade lives, no matter the situation. There are other ways, Vis."

Vision began to pace toward him. "Captain, seventy years ago, you laid down your life to save how many millions of people. Tell me, why is this any different?"

Bucky pushed himself up from where he leaned against the side of a table, and still held onto the old cat he had missed too much to be healthy. He met Vision's harsh gaze with one of his own. "There are a lot of reasons. But we have more resources now than I did then. So we're gonna figure this out."

To his right, Steve inhaled deeply and got ready to speak, but Bruce beat him to the punch;

"Your mind is made up of a complex construct of overlays. J.A.R.V.I.S., Ultron, Tony, me, the stone. All of them mixed together. All of them learning from one another."

Wanda perked up at the start of a new possibility. "You're saying Vision isn't just the stone?"

"I'm saying that if we take out the stone, there's still a whole lot of Vision left...Perhaps the best parts."

"But isn't the stone powering him?" Bucky asked. "Take out the stone, you would have to immediately insert a new power source. One that can handle the intake, keep up with the required energy."

Nat turned a questioning gaze on Bruce. "Can we do that?

The doctor immediately shook his head. "Not me. Not here."

"You better find someone, and somewhere fast. Ross isn't exactly just gonna let you guys have your old rooms back," Rhodes reminded them.

After a few quiet seconds, Steve spoke up; "We know somewhere."

Bucky groaned and threw himself around to face Steve, setting Alpine down on the table. She chirped at him as he insisted, "We are not putting my goats in danger."

He rolled his eyes and huffed in exasperation, fingers slipping up to fasten in his hair. "Buck, your goats are _fine_."

"If Suzie gets hurt -"

"Oh, so you _do_ have a favorite?" Sam teased, after hearing Bucky say that he never had a favorite so many times.

"Suzie cuddles. Of course, she's my favorite." He turned back to Steve, and said, seriosuly, "You're the one taking the heat if the king doesn't like this."

  
< | >

It was too quiet.

Every animal, every being, ceased existence. The breeze didn't rustle the Wakandan foliage like it should have. The silence was deafening, a heavy cloud that settled over the world.

Then his hand turned to dust. A queasy dread settled in his stomach - Thanos was going to obliterate half the universe. Was everyone supposed to just drop dead, like their strings were cut? No. Dust. Ashes. They would remain, polluting the air and blocking out the light, settling in the dirt. A part of them would always be there, to remind the new world of what had happened.

"Bucky?"

No. No, no, no. He couldn't leave him, he couldn't leave him _like this_.

"Steve."

He was within reach. But Bucky's fingertips no longer existed. The gun fell from his hands - no, he dropped it, as his hand disappeared out from under the grip. Something he had been trained to _never_ do.

Losing his gun meant defeat.

His eyes met Steve's, then the impossibly blue sky. One last look, in these split seconds.

Throughout the tedious war, the sun continued to shine. The blue did not sour to grey. Even as the world stopped to hold its breath, the sun would light up the Earth.

**Author's Note:**

> Part 3 and 4 are in the works right now. They will be in Steve's POV, pick up roughly where we left off. They dive deeper into his experiences, and we start to really understand the man behind the sketches. 
> 
> That's coming soon. I hope you guys enjoyed this! (:


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